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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145655">Line of Sight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniaJuice/pseuds/InsomniaJuice'>InsomniaJuice</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other, Slice of Life, just for fun, military stuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:20:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145655</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniaJuice/pseuds/InsomniaJuice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of semi-continuous stories and one-shots featuring our favourite Rainbow Six squads! Mostly about Glaz, but other operators will appear too, because I love them all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cold Snow, Colder Barrel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Glaz faces off an enemy sniper. Inspired by his operator introduction video.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A gust of cold wind shook him awake. Snowflakes drifting down from the murky sky stung his eyes when he tried to focus his vision. Even through at least three layers of gorka suit, he can still feel the ice snaking into his aching bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this time of year, Mount Kholodilnik might’ve been called beautiful by tourists - people seeking to camp or hike among the frozen footpaths. Glaz was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> here to camp or hike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steadied his sniper rifle against the rock ledge again, and peered out towards the abandoned military barracks. It was near impossible to spot in the fading dusk light, especially across several hundred feet of wild snowstorm and shadows. But he knew it’s there: the glint of the barrel of a rifle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the first shots whizzed past his head, he’d been unable to make out the model of the gun from its relatively subdued </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s been about two hours since he was pinned here, and exfil would be near impossible with the pitiful intel available to his team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed hard against the stock of his rifle until his knuckles strained, that at least brought some sensation back to his frozen fingers. He wasn’t too keen on keeping a hand on the trigger though, as any misfire could compromise his position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snow fell in heavy strokes now. White filled his vision and blotted out the rocky terrain around him. He supposed he should be glad the thick blanket of snow almost concealed him completely, providing natural camouflage to his dark uniform. But if he moves an inch, he’s a dead man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few hours were never as trying as the later ones. That’s when hunger and fatigue sets in, when Glaz’s mind starts making up scenarios and possibilities for him to fuss over. He fished around in his gorka for a water purification tablet, all spent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just has to hold out till nightfall, then he’ll have the higher ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Facing another sniper in a standoff is a match of endurance and tenacity, the first one to move is always rewarded with a bullet in their skull. Glaz trained his eyes on the faded concrete walls of the barracks, waiting for any movement on the other end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other sniper seemed to have the same idea, as half an hour passed without any movement from inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Habitually, Glaz began picking apart the situation, analyzing his odds of survival and taking apart all the details:</span>
</p><p> </p>
<ul>
<li><em><span>The sniper does not use a laser sight, which means they are not completely brain dead. But they had a silencer equipped for a long-distance shot, so they’re either extremely confident in their aim, or they’re paranoid to the point of over-cautious.</span></em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>He did not hear a sonic crack associated with most high-power sniper rifles, which means this rifle bears subsonic loads. So the enemy did not prepare for a long-ranged battle.</span></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Lastly, and most importantly: the first shot missed him by several feet, the second was no closer. This mistake would’ve been avoided with a spotter - the enemy is on his own as well.</span></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, Glaz was at a significant disadvantage here, as the storm howled on and his body became numb. His hands involuntarily shook from the cold seeping into his clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Говно...that would kill his aim for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A northern wren flapped its wings somewhere above his head. Then he felt the tiny weight of a pair of claws handing on his chechenka hat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to laugh, but that would certainly scare the bird away, and he’s not about to pass up an opportunity to befriend such a little thing. He shifted slightly without shaking off the snow, and stretched out his legs as much as he could in a prone position. The wren bounced around atop his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patient, птичка.” He admonished it in no particularly harsh tone, “I’m working here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wren bounced some more, gave his head a good, hard peck, and took off in a flutter of feathers. Its little wings fanned cold air onto his exposed neck, he shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the barracks, he saw a flash of black steel retreat from the window, long enough for him to narrow down the model of the gun to several options.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Russian made...Dragunov? Long barrel, can’t be a VSS Vintorez, old too…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He jolted himself back to focusing on that particular window, eyes trained on every little moving shadow as the snow piled higher. Ice clung to his eyelashes and drifted into his eyes, the stinging almost tempted him to rub his eyes frantically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His right eye is hurting again, this time from the old scar on his iris. The gun kick left a permanent red mark on his eye, and now it’s acting up and itching like hell, sending pulses of dull pain into his skull, reverberating inside his brain. He squeezed that eye shut, hoping to distract himself from the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A puff of white steam escaped his lips. For a moment Glaz panicked in the thought that the sniper could see his breath, frozen by the gelid air. So he pressed his head down just a bit and breathed slowly into his kosynka wrap, hoping the air won’t betray his position. The steam reminded him of those awful, foul cigars Kapkan was so fond of smoking on his down time. He’d always refuse when offered one, yet he couldn’t help but wonder what they would taste like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s bad for you anyways,” Maxim told him once as they sat outside the mess hall and watched the recruits jog by, “But it calms my nerves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If that’s what it does, he could really use a cigar now - except the smoke would mean certain death. He thought back to Maxim’s self-satisfied smirk, his cigar caught between his lips, puffing smoke like a dragon, and mused over how the hunter’s awful smell never compromised his position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was Kapkan hiding inside the barracks, he’d smell him across the snowstorm, that’s for damn sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gentle flap of wings above him again, a crisp chirp that shot through the silent storm, louder than the crack of a gun. The northern wren grappled with a branch above his head, dislodging all the snow on the tree onto Glaz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Glaz could make a sound, he’d be yelling “пиздеч” at the wren at the top of his lungs. But he’s firmly buried under three inches of snow and half frozen to death, so he opted to just cuss out the wren in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when he realized why the wren’s voice seemed so loud: it was getting quieter. Kholodilnik’s natural ambience of the day was giving way to silence of the night. The sparrows and rosefinches stopped their incessant chirping and have retreated into the dense foliage of the mountain. Darkness was approaching fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glaz managed the closest thing to a grin with his frozen face. He knew the sniper would get frisky and try to make a move before nightfall, he’d been waiting patiently, baiting out the enemy like dangling a hook in front of a fish.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kapkan would be proud of that analogy…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, there it is. The quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a clip squeezing into place. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So it was a bolt-action.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He readied his trigger finger, and a thin layer of ice that had frozen around his skin broke off. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad his digits were fully attached to his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A distant shuffling noise, too jarring in the incessant whispering snowstorm to be quiet. Then it was silent again, Glaz could’ve sworn the wind carried a panicked, hushed breathing to his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spared a glance at the sky: it was a dark, bruised purple; murky blotches of storm clouds mixed in with the fading dusk, blanketing the world in a strange hue. The distant silver in the sky signaled the arrival of a waning moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above him, the wren chirped again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced down through his scope, seeing the corner of a white, featureless mask peeking out from behind the crumbling concrete structure. A lone sniper searching the barren mountains for any sign of his presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind strayed for a split second, staring at the glinting black barrel of the aged </span>
  <em>
    <span>nagant mosin </span>
  </em>
  <span>in the sniper’s hands. He looked through the void inside the barrel, and wondered if it was pointed right at his forehead…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wren gave a final, shrill call from its little lungs, and took off in a gentle flutter. It was the loudest thing Glaz ever heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steadied his scope, breathed slowly, and counted his heartbeat. The white mask inched slowly into his line of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beat, stop. Beat, stop. Beat-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Fire</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the trigger between his heartbeats, feeling the recoil punch his shoulder and knock the air out of him. The gunshot echoed through the quiet woods, bouncing off frozen branches and shattering sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The muzzle flash made his eyes water, leaving an unpleasant black mark in his vision. Glaz rubbed away the residue and looked down through his scope again: splattered crimson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to pull himself up, but the snow on him had frozen into a thick shell. With some difficulty, Glaz rolled into his back and breathed hard, letting the white steam obscure his vision. His joints ached and his spine protested at staying prone for so long, but sensation was coming back to his limbs, and he was breathing evenly again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up and saw the waning moon he’d been expecting. Then he radioed in for exfil, reporting to the team about his recent victory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Молодец, Glazkov.” His pilot called over the radio, and he could hear Tachanka’s boisterous laughter in the background, “No one expected any less of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to hear.” He mumbled into his radio wearily, “But first tell me, did anyone bring any food with them?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Master of None...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Glaz plays poker with the FBI. Chaos ensues.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a solid three minutes since Thermite went to check on the popcorn, and Ash was getting impatient.<br/>
<br/>
For the most part though, Glaz didn’t mind. He wasn’t here because the FBI contingent is renowned for delicious snacks - if he wanted food, he’d go bother Tachanka for his pack of zefir. He was here because Kapkan was nowhere to be seen, Fuze was exploding things in his workshop, and the Lord was insistent on welcoming Finka with a hearty round of drinks and a few wrestling matches. None of these activities sounded appealing to him.<br/>
<br/>
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around to find Pulse face to face with him.</p><p>“Hey, Glaz. Haven’t seen Kap in a while now, where’d he go?”</p><p>He just shrugged. Pulse nodded knowingly, as if he’d been let in on some Spetsnaz secret.<br/>
<br/>
Ash plopped down on the common room couch near them and began shuffling a deck of cards in her hands. She was obviously ticked off by Jordan’s absence, her brow was furrowed and she practically smacked the cards against each other.</p><p>“He’s always late for everything,” she gritted her teeth, “Training, briefing, getting the fuckin’ popcorn-“</p><p>Castle put a hand on her shoulder in consolation. Though he himself seemed irritated by Thermite as well.</p><p>“I’ll go check on him.” Glaz offered, hoping to diffuse the stress radiating off Ash, “Maybe the popcorn is taking longer than expected.”</p><p>“The package said five minutes.” Pulse retorted with a sour face.<br/>
<br/>
Now he’s seriously regretting not taking up Tachanka on the offer of a drinking night.</p><p>When Glaz stepped into the kitchen, the buttery sweet scent was overwhelming. He could practically taste the crispy kernels in his mouth. His eyes searched for any sign of Thermite, and found him-</p><p>-stuffing a fistful of popcorn into his mouth, crunching them like a starved wolf.</p><p>Thermite jerked a little when Glaz approached him, nearly spilling the remainder in the bag. But he quickly recovered, held out the bag, and flashed Glaz his signature smile.</p><p>“Want some?” He shook the bag temptingly.</p><p>Glaz suppressed a chuckle, “No. You should head back though, Eliza is getting feisty.”</p><p>Thermite’s eyes went wide at the mention of his colleague. He gulped down the last mouthful uneasily, and darted for the breakroom.</p><p>That was the fastest sprint specialist Jordan “Thermite” Trace has ever done in his life.</p><p>***</p><p>Ash dealt out five hands of cards swiftly, and five hands reached out to grab their decks. Five pairs of eyes scrutinized each other for any emotions betraying their luck.</p><p>Out of all the operators, Ash and Castle had the best poker faces. Thermite couldn’t hold that stupid grin spreading across his face as he attempted a stone-cold façade; Pulse was sulking, a frown accentuated by his bald head; Glaz’s lips quirked into a small smile when he saw the two jacks in his hand.</p><p>“Something funny, Glazkov?” Ash probed, her face was a strictly unwavering mask of neutrality.</p><p>“Just thinking about a joke Shuhrat told me.” He lied, mind fleeing back to how the Uzbek’s attempts at humor are jaw-clenching at best.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ll deal first.” Ash declared, slamming down a card: two of hearts.<br/>
<br/>
Thermite added his own to the pile next, that shit-eating grin permanently plastered on his face; then Castle and Pulse each threw down their cards wordlessly. Glaz went last.</p><p>After a few rounds, everyone was eyeing the sizable pile of cards stacked high in the middle of the table. Searching eyes darted between faces and worked to guess who holds the first jack of the game.</p><p>“This game is making me feel nervous.” Pulse admitted. Glaz could see a shiny mist of sweat on his forehead.</p><p>Ash snorted loudly at that, “You can always chicken out.”</p><p>Pulse just shook his head and threw down another card.</p><p>Jack of spades.</p><p>Immediately, several hands went to slam down on the pile. There was a resounding smack in the breakroom as the operators slapped each other all at once. Glaz felt the sting of the contact on his own hand.</p><p>They all looked down at the several hands still clutching the pile. Castle removed his hand first, and gave an awkward cough. Then it was Thermite’s turn. The chemist turned to rub at the burn scars on his hands, no doubt irritated by the slap. Pulse moved away next, still eyeing the pile.</p><p>Ash withdrew her hand, leaving Glaz to hold the cards. He scooped them up triumphantly and shuffled them all into his considerably large deck.</p><p>“Not bad,” She gave a terribly half-hearted compliment, “But watch yourself.”</p><p>“Oh, I intend to.” He fired back. The air fizzled with static tension.</p><p>The game carried on wordlessly, with Thermite’s quick temper and trigger finger getting the better of him, as he accidentally slammed down on two queens. After his deck size shrunk down to less than five cards, he simply gave up and stuffed them all into the pile.</p><p>Ash put a protective hand over the bag of popcorn right as Thermite made a grab for it. The latter whined in complaint.</p><p>“You’re not going to eat with mercury thiocyanate still on your hands.” She chided. That shut Thermite up real quick.</p><p>With Thermite out of the game, the tension grew heavier as the stakes rose higher. Glaz could laugh at the irony of his self-proclaimed comparison between an artist and a sniper. It sounded like the beginning of a joke: What does an artist, a sniper, and a game of slapjack have in common…?<br/>
<br/>
A loud slam jolted him back to reality. Castle’s mouth twisted in frustration as he removed his hand from the queen of hearts. The defender grumbled as he threw down another card, which Ash gleefully added to her expanding deck.</p><p>Glaz eyed the table around him: it’s clear the competition is between him and Ash now. While Pulse and Castle were playing along, those two were so far behind in the competition even they knew it. Castle looked like he wanted to make a dash for the door and just quit the game. Pulse, to his credit, was still feigning interest with furrowed brows and an intent glare on the pile in the middle of the table.</p><p>Glaz has already used his first jack. He was betting on the assumption that Ash wouldn’t believe he got lucky with his hand, hoping to take her by surprise.</p><p>Ash kept her cards close to her chest, and regarded everyone with a coy smile. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes was barely visible under the shadow of her cap. She had the look of knowing exactly what’s going on at all times.</p><p>His right eye was hurting again. A dull ache settled in his eye socket. A hand flew up habitually to rub it, holding to alleviate the pain.<br/>
<br/>
It reminded him of his time in South Ossetia, how the gun kicked right into his face. A deafening supersonic crack from a high-caliber rifle, followed by burning static dancing across his vision-</p><p>He shook his head to clear the thoughts.</p><p>And threw down his last jack.<br/>
<br/>
Ash’s hand landed on the pile before his.<br/>
He blinked, realizing he’d lost the game. Glaz forfeited the rest of his deck in good nature, and Ash gathered them all up with a triumphant grin.</p><p>“Молодец, Eliza.” Glaz relaxed back into his chair for the first time since the game began, “How did you know I was going to put down a jack?”</p><p>Ash just smiled and tapped her eye at him.</p><p>
  <em>Ah, she knows…</em>
</p><p>His eye is itching again, but without the painful throb, so he opted to ignore it and focus on the popcorn. Castle and Pulse are starting up another round between themselves, and neither him or Ash had the patience to watch. From<br/>
somewhere in the kitchen, Glaz could hear pan clattering and something being spilled, then Jordan’s string of choice expletives echoing in the breakroom.</p><p>Castle and Pulse shared a look, both shook their heads and went back to dealing hands between themselves. Ash cursed under her breath and stomped towards the kitchen, leaving Glaz to listen to their exchange with an amused smirk.<br/>
<br/>
Poker nights with the FBI always end up like this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! I am picking up this fic after a long, long time. I still have a bunch of chapters written and waiting to be posted. Please leave a kudos or comment~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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